


I Love The Valley

by asphaltworld



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Valley of the Dolls - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, kitsch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltworld/pseuds/asphaltworld
Summary: IASIP Valley of the Dolls AU, which, if that means nothing to you:The Gang meets in New York in the 1960s. Mac is a new arrival, Frank is a rich art investor who takes an interest in Charlie, and the rest are struggling artistic types making rent by working at Paddy’s.Mac is the Anne character but otherwise it's pretty loosely inspired by VoD-- similar relationships and situations but not much directly taken from the story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here’s a quote from the author of VoD's editor, don preston, that i found intriguing:  
> “Jackie didn’t understand the emotional side of sex—which she always called ‘humping.’ All she understood was the physical act. When Anne loses her virginity to Lyon, I suggested that she set it in this tawdry hotel room with a naked lightbulb. She still loves him, but she’s left wondering, How did it get kind of ugly when I thought it would be beautiful? But Jackie objected: ‘Can’t I just write, “and then they fucked,” and leave it at that?’ Jackie had far more sensitivity writing the sex scenes between women.” 
> 
>  
> 
> anyway, gayness and specifically bisexuality comes up frequently and fascinatingly in the VoD novel. mostly in homophobic ways, just to warn you!

 

The sun shone in through dingy windows as Mac’s cab pulled up to the curb. He struggled to pull his hard-shell suitcase out onto the curb, handed the driver his fare, and stared up at the skyscrapers around him. Oh, Christ, he thought, I’m finally out of Philly. He struggled through the crowded sidewalks til he found a cheap hostel.

Mac flopped back on his bed after sliding the suitcase under it. I’m staying in a shitty hostel... _in New York_ , he thought. This is where my life begins.

Philly had been fine, just fine, until he thought about where he was going in life and where he’d been, on the eve of his twenty-fifth birthday, and freaked out about a quarter century passed just kicking around the same corners of South Philly where the most ever happened was his father was arrested, mother evicted, friends locked up or hitting rock bottom. Everything telling him to run. It was dreary as hell, even with the flurry of action surrounding him. New York was filled with people who did things and made things happen, instead of having things done or happen to them. Mac wanted to take an active role in his life, so he took a Greyhound into New York to see what he could do.

Finding a room to stay in was his most pressing concern. He met with a handful of landlords, until he wised up and took to looking for roommates instead, looking for contact info scrawled on bits of paper on bulletin boards at coffee shops and delis. One room in particular looked to be within his budget.

Mac got ready in the communal hostel bathroom, splashing his face with water and trying to do something about his hair. His potential roommate, Charlie, was waiting for him at a place down the street.

When Mac got there, Charlie seemed about four beers deep already. He was short and dark-haired, with the look of a small mammal. In a hurry to catch up, Mac ordered a double whiskey. “So,” Mac began. “How much to share the room?”

“$100 each, dude. And just so you know, it’s a small room.” He looked defensive. “I’m not making any promises. There’s a bit of a cat problem.”

“Don’t worry, man, I’m used to rats,” Mac said, mishearing Charlie. “Philly’s got an insane--”

“But are you used to _cats_?” Charlie countered. “They scream. They’re loud. They piss, all over the alley. Sometimes they follow me to work.”

Mac furrowed his brow at this sudden, intense display, but he needed the room.

“Cats are cool. I’m fine with them, my mom had a cat for six years.”

“Alright.” That seemed to satisfy him. He lifted his beer, and Mac clinked his glass against it.

They finished their drinks.

“Well, do you wanna come see the place?”

“Yeah, sure, lemme just pay my tab...”

“Mac. Look at me. I have no intention of paying my tab. Why do you think I took you to such a shithole?” In fact, the bar was pretty well-lit, with clean glasses and no foul smells drifting over to them. To Mac, all of those things constituted a non-shithole bar. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Uh, okay.” Mac tossed some cash on the counter anyway, but followed the path through the crowd made by Charlie’s aggressive movements.

“Hey, man, why do you have paint all over your clothes? Are you like, a painter?” Mac’s heard all about New York City painters.

“Nah.” Charlie seemed uninterested in making small talk.

After a few blocks of fastwalking, Charlie stopped in front of a rundown, greenish building. “Welcome home!” he said, with a sweep of his hand. He put on a smile barely distinguishable from a grimace.

“Okay, slow down. Show me the room first, Charlie.”

“Just trying to be personable,” Charlie muttered, but he led him up the several flights of stairs to his dingy little green room.

“See, the couch folds out into a nice full-size bed here.”

“Okay, where does my bed go?”

“Your what?”

“My bed, Charlie, I’m not sharing a bed with a _man_ I’ve known for _less than a week_.” Or a man, like, ever, he didn’t bother saying, because it should be obvious.

“Well, uh, we could get you a sleeping bag or something...”

“I’m not gonna sleep in a bag on that floor.”

“Jesus Christ, bud, I’m trying to make accommodations for you, trying to be.. to be flexible and shit, but you’re not giving me anything to work with!”

Mac groaned. Frustration was edging in-- he tried to be polite but this guy was unreasonable. He remembered his lack of other plans. The hostel was hard to sleep in-- normally he wouldn’t worry about his big suitcase of cheap clothes getting stolen, but some of the other occupants looked like they might try it. He saw a group of pale boys with shaved heads rifle through a bag that looked like it didn’t belong to them. He wanted to avoid that.

“Okay, okay. How big is that bed? Let’s lie on it side-by-side, fully clothed, and see how that goes.”

\----

Mac woke up the next morning to the smell of sizzling cheese-- Charlie was cooking something terrible and fatty on the hot plate, wearing a pair of faintly piss-stained long johns.

“Do you need a job?” Charlie asked, once he saw him moving around, rifling through his suitcase.

“Hmm?” Mac was still fuzzy from sleep.

“Would you like to work with me?” Charlie continued.

Mac was immediately wary. Did he look like that much of a sucker?

“I don’t have any money to invest,” he said carefully. “What is it you do?”

Charlie laughed.

“No, man, I’m asking if you wanna work at the bar with me.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Yes, that’s what I ‘do.’ I clean toilets, wipe down booths, that kind of thing. But hey. For you, I’m thinking security. You’re a big guy. Think you can do that, keep drunks in check?”

Mac was sure he could.

“Yeah, bro, are you serious? Look at me! Think your boss will go for it?”

“He trusts me, and if I tell him you’re right for the job, he’s definitely gonna hire you.”

Mac felt relief flood his body, releasing tension he hadn’t even noticed.

“Thank God, Charlie, ‘cause this is the first time since I was sixteen I’ve been out of work and haven’t even had a job lined up.” He didn’t mention that his job was helping his dad deal.

“Don’t thank God, man, thank me,” Charlie said absently, directing his attention back to the hot plate. “Having you around at work might make it easier to work with the other dipshits who make their living there.”

“I bet you get all kinds of girls in there,” Mac said, imagining it already.

\-------------

A jazzy guitar line blared out of nowhere, blasting Mac out of sleep and out of the blissful dream of martial arts training he’d been enjoying. He let out a garbled cry.

“Shh!” Charlie hissed from a folding chair, fiddling with a knob on something electrical. Charlie used a stolen Wollensak tape recorder for his music. “I’m trying to record!”

“At 2am?”

“The cats finally settle down around this time, so I don’t have all that background noise. My recordings have to sound professional, and they don’t if I have fifty cats yammering in the background.”

“I don’t know if the cats would be the main problem, Charlie.”

“What’re you talking about, Mac?”

“Now, I don’t consider myself a musician, but your setup alone has huge issues, not to mention the corner of the room you’ve chosen to record in. Charlie, if you’re gonna do something, do it right...”

So Mac sacrificed three hours of sleep to help Charlie drape old sheets over the walls to keep the sound from bouncing off them, then letting Charlie do his work, dooming himself to a very long first day of work.

\----

Mac showed up to work with dark circles under his eyes. It’s not like he wasn’t grateful to Charlie for getting him this job, but the guy was insane. He didn’t sleep like normal people, didn’t live like normal people... It was almost like he enjoyed squalor.

“Lookin’ rough, buddy,” the bartender called. He was the clean-cut type, carefully coiffed and his shirt freshly ironed. Looking him over, Mac got a flash of him waking up early, setting aside time to sculpt his curls with some kind of gel or pomade in a cloudy mirror, kneeling at a tiny ironing board on the floor in a shared studio apartment, steam obscuring his features. It was endearing, to Mac’s surprise.

“Yeah, well fuck you...” Mac racked his brain, trying to attach a name to the face. Had they been introduced?

“Dennis,” the man supplied.

“Yeah, fuck you too, Dennis.”

He gave Mac a wide smile. “Back atcha...” He gestured, waiting for Mac to supply a name.

“Mac.”

Dennis laughed. “Should have guessed a name like that, with the freckles on you.”

Mac somehow couldn’t find it in him to be offended. He even smiled at the Anglo-Saxon son of a bitch.

“Yeah, and what’s your last name, Smith? Your family come here on the Mayflower?”

“We sure did,” Dennis said, ignoring the first question. “I’ve got quite the pedigree.”

“And yet here we both are, toiling away in a dark dive bar.” Mac smiled at him.

Dennis shook his head. “You got me there.” He went back to work. He was never far out of Mac’s line of sight, and Mac became familiar with his expressions, the tilt of his hands as he mixed a drink. Standing by the door of a bar with lackluster popularity was a boring job, and he had to focus his attention somewhere-- it kept him alert.

\---------

“Hey, dick,” Mac said, breezing into the apartment and dropping his dufflebag onto the filthy carpet.

“Mac.” Charlie nodded. “Coming from Dennis’s place?”

“Yeah, actually,” Mac said, unpacking something from his bag.

“You’re spending a lot of time there, huh?”

“I guess I am.” Mac freed something from his bag. “Look at this! Dennis gave me his old blender. Now I can make protein shakes without having to use a fucking whisk.”

Charlie just eyed the appliance, with a strange look on his face.

“Sounds a lot like charity, bro.”

“Nah, he knows I just got to the city and don’t have my shit together yet, otherwise I wouldn’t need this.” Never mind that Mac had never owned a blender before. But he looked perturbed. “Why, do you think he feels sorry for me?”

“Just watch out for him, that’s all I’m saying, man. I’ve been people get burned before” Charlie shifted in his seat. “But forget him, bro. Let’s go hang out under the bridge again, that was a great time.”

It had been a great time. Charlie connected with them instantly, talking about boiling denim and cat repellant and lots of Charlie shit. Even Mac had enjoyed it, because he could get totally obliterated and they wouldn’t judge him at all.

“I’m game. Let me just fix my hair down...”

\-----------------

It was freezing and Charlie was following one of his more inconvenient whims. Mac, usually content to let Charlie use the space for his painting and recording, had to put his foot down.

“Charlie, for fuck’s sake, you can’t let flea-ridden mangy cats into our apartment on the coldest night of the year _instead_ of heating the place.” Mac stormed after Charlie, following him as he attempted to escape the argument. “That is fully, batshit crazy, dude. That’s not you.”

“Ohhh, so now he’s too good for cat warmth!” Charlie shrieked back. “Three months working at the bar and now you’re ready to live the high life!”

“Charlie, we could both afford something way better than this apartment. We get paid the same. Why are you even living here?”

“You really wanna know? All right. Terrible credit,” Charlie said, deflating. “My mom got all these cards under my name as soon as I turned eighteen-- and now I’m fucked, forever. I don’t even have a credit card now!”

“Whoa. Bad move, Charlie.” Instinct kicked in and urged Mac to sit down with Charlie to talk over his financial woes. “We gotta get you a credit card, that’s the only way to fix bad credit. Anyway! That’s not the point! Charlie, I gotta move out of here. I can’t take this building anymore.”

Charlie froze below him on the stairs.

“Hey, you could move out with me. We can do this together.”

Charlie ignored him. He was tied to his apartment, by the layers of grime and the habits he’d adopted to stomach living in it.

“Mac, dude, you can’t just spring this on me. You have to give a guy notice. Where am I supposed to come up with all the rent by myself?”

“Okay, you’re right. I won’t move out til I know you have someone lined up. I mean, I have to find somewhere to live, anyway.” Mac wondered what happened to the guy who lived there before him, sharing the tiny, depressing room with Charlie. He didn’t ask. “But this just doesn’t work, Charlie.”

A cloud passed over Charlie’s usually open, guileless face. He recovered quickly.

“So let’s go back up? It’s cold as shit out here, man.”

“Yeah, okay. But please, Charlie, let’s get rid of the goddamn cats.”

“Ever heard the expression ‘like herding cats’?” Charlie asked. “You’re about to get a very intimate understanding of it.”

Mac groaned.

\--------

“Well, I gotta go. Thanks for the drink, all the other bars in this part of town water them down to shit,” a tall brunette said to Dennis, slipping a piece of paper under her glass. She looked at him from under her lashes before slinking away, her acrylic-heeled boots thumping the linoleum.

Mac watched from across the bar. When the door closed behind her, he hurried over to Dennis’s side.

“Holy shit, dude, that was awesome! How did that happen?”

Dennis smiled, looking smug.

“That is the DENNIS system at work. Drives women crazy-- I get numbers like that all through my shift.”

“Wow. That was admirable, bro. You gotta show me sometime.”

“Maybe I will, Mac.” His smile wasn't kind. Its sharpness and the coolness of his eyes were never more obvious than when he had control over a room-- the power to dispense alcohol. Mac couldn't help but stare.

\------------

Charlie turned off the OPEN sign and leaned back against the wall. Almost thirty people showed up over the course of the night, which was unusually busy.

“Hey Mac, wanna hang out after work?” Charie called.

“Sure, Charlie. What are we up to?”

Charlie was exciting in the way that fringe artists were-- he wasn’t afraid to get dirty, but was prone to oddly beautiful gestures of whimsy. This was why Mac was drawn to him in the first place. [reference past underground boxing experience he involved mac in?]

“Well, ah, Frank’s pig guy is coming, which means there’s be food, maybe even rum ham,” he said, leaning in towards Mac for emphasis. “They’re getting kinda into ragtime, but spliced with Halloween sound effects. Zeke got his hands on an old swimsuit from the twenties, so there’s that.”

“Okay, I kinda wanna see that,” Mac admitted.

“Let’s go! The night is young.” It was 2am.

It wound up being at the DJ’s grimy apartment, attended by a lot of men with faces that looked all wrong. Mac felt uncomfortable, then felt guilty for feeling uncomfortable. Was he not hip enough for this? Charlie was getting into it with some geezer in the corner-- Frank, if Mac remembers correctly. He’s short and round, and most memorably, always getting into some profoundly grotesque situations.

So Mac stood around just watching the depravity, mostly. A young man with handsome features came up to him, smiling the way only the totally trashed can do.

“Hello,” he said, resting a hand on Mac’s bicep. “I haven’t seen you at one of these before. Who’d you come with? Hwang?”

Mac shifted under his hand.

“Uh. I came with Charlie.” The man was violating normal standards of behavior. Clapping a guy on the shoulder should be brief and forceful. This was neither.

“Cool,” the man said, his eyes going out of focus. “Wanna come to the back room with me?”

“No, thank you,” Mac said, not wanting to try a strange and gross drug so late in the night.

“Damn! I’ve had rotten luck all week. I just want to get off,” he whined.

“Get off how?” Something about this man interested him. Anyone else he probably would have shaken off, but this one he felt a pull towards.

He smiled. “If you come to the back room, I’ll show you.”

Mac shrugged. “Not that much going on out here anyway, I guess.”

He took Mac’s hand, led him down a short hallway into a room with a beaded curtain and scarves covering the lamps and a spiral-patterned rug.

“Sit down.” His hands crept up Mac’s broad shoulders, to his neck.

“Oh, God.” Mac let it out, a quiet desperate sound. The man’s hands went to his fly, but Mac batted his hand away.

“Not that,” Mac said.

“Alright,” he said, regarding Mac carefully. “Can I take this off you?”

“Yes.” So he removed Mac’s striped pullover, and swept his hands over Mac’s chest, scraping at the nipples.  

Mac felt a tugging below the belt, his pants getting tight. His body was responding of its own accord, and it was like nothing he’d felt before, not with the handful of girls in Philly, or the strip club with Frank and Charlie, when even Dennis had bothered coming out with them.

The man was unbuckling his own belt, rubbing a hand over his dick. Mac thought maybe he should say something, but found he didn’t want to. He let the stranger pull himself out, standing over Mac as he stroked himself.

His climax came in a hot wet flash across Mac’s chest and Mac toweled himself off furiously, once a towel was provided. Long after he cleaned up, he felt the phantom heat of semen pooling on his body.

“Well,” he began, trying desperately to sound casual, “I should probably get out of here. Don’t wanna miss my ride home.”

“Sure, sure,” the man said, lying boneless beside him. “Do whatever you want.”

So Mac emerged to a dissipating crowd, his hair disheveled and an uncharacteristic flush in his cheeks. He felt off-kilter, bursting out of his skin. It had finally happened. After so many years of trying to avoid it, he fell, sudden and hard, into the vice he’d feared most. Now there was nothing left to fear.

“Mac!” Charlie crowed, jerking Mac out of the pleasant glow he felt. “There the fuck you are. I was just telling Frank about our bar.”

“The bar we work at?”

“Yeah. He says it sounds like a good place to hang out.”

“Between the owner never being around and the bums who are our only patrons, yeah, I guess it sounds like the place for his crowd.” Mac stared at them, unfriendly.

“Perfect!” Frank laughed, an ugly sound.

\---------

“Mac, Mac we’re gonna be late.”

“Uhhnnnnnnn.” Mac groaned at Charlie from under the covers.

“I should’ve known you can’t handle your downers like I can...” Charlie muttered. “God, get out of bed, it’s four now. We have to be at the bar in an hour, and that shellac you put in your hair takes a good fifteen minutes.”

Mac ignored him.

“Well, I’m not your father, I guess. I’m taking off. See you at the bar.”

Mac dragged himself out of bed, eventually, walking around the apartment like the undead.

When he finally got the bar, a few minutes after open, he was still ashen-faced.

Charlie took one look at him and tossed him a little plastic bag. There were two pills inside. “Take one every four hours. I got ‘em from Frank. They’ll keep you up, buddy. I just made your day a fuckton easier.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mac was no stranger to unmarked pills. Minutes later, he felt sparkly, lit up from within and able to perform ocular pat downs of every bar patron. He patrolled the near-empty bar, just to feel his own efficiency.

“Jesus, look at him go,” Dennis said to Dee, his sister who had just started waitressing there. She was an aspiring actress and she was terrible, according to Dennis, who insisted this so loudly no one had the chance to contradict him.

“He always like this?” she asked.

“Usually he has the response time of a sedated cow.” Dennis looked on in morbid fascination. “I don’t know if I like him like this. It’s like seeing livestock take in interest in the world around it. Looks all wrong.”

“Hey, if it makes our jobs easier, I’m all for it.” Dee shrugged and went back to slugging down her beer.

“We’re really not supposed to drink on the job,” Dennis mused, drinking from his own bottle.

Dee smiled. “Like that’s ever stopped us.”

\----------

Mac and Dennis were out at a nice Chinese restaurant, on the last Friday of the month. After Dennis ordered for them, they talked about their plans, for auditions, for parties, for scraping by at work with the least effort possible.

“I’m telling you, if we all slow down our work together, that bastard can’t do anything about it,” Dennis was saying. Mac nodded and was struck by his sheer force of will. Dennis really wanted things, and he planned for them.

“Well, you lead the charge, man.”

Dennis nodded.

Mac slurped down the rest of his noodles.

Dennis winced. “God, we have got to get you to some etiquette classes.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that,” Mac said.

“Whatever. So, same time, on the tenth? But Gugino’s this time.”

“Gugino’s?” Mac asked. “It’s funny, I can’t believe I still haven’t been there. I’m settling in, in New York, but I have never been to Gugino’s.”

Dennis smiled. “See, this is why you need a guy like me to take you around.”

\-----

At 7 o’clock on the tenth, Mac went up to the host and smiled widely.

“Hi. Reservation for two, should be under Reynolds. Maybe the other person is here already?”

The host checked the books. “Reynolds you said?”

“That’s right. Dennis always reserves under his name.”

The host made a face.

“How cute. Let me see... Sir, we have no registrations under the name Reynolds. Are you sure that’s what the reservation is under?”

“Uh, Reynolds? Yeah, it should be under Reynolds. Let me spell it out for you-- R-E-Y--”

“Sorry, sir, there’s no Reynolds here. I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

The tables nearest the podium, which had been roaring with life when he arrived, went quiet. They were listening in.

“There has to be some kind of mistake--”

“Sir, I won’t ask you again. We get jokers in here every night trying that same trick. Maybe it worked in Cleveland, Ohio, but certainly not in New York City!”

Mac’s blood boiled.

“Ohio-- you think I’m from fucking Ohio? God, you pathetic toupeed fuck! If this is what you call service, I have no interest in eating here anyway.”

If he’d been in Philadelphia he probably would have tried to knock something over, but he was honestly terrified of New York cops. So he stomped out. No assault, no vandalism.

The next night at work, Mac made a point of ignoring Dennis. This did not become apparent to Dennis until he directly asked Mac a question-- and since Mac was on those pills Charlie gave him again, he was tempted to ignore Dennis the hardest he could. Which entailed telling him that he was being ignored.

“I’m ignoring you, goddamn it!” Mac shouted. A few of the patrons turned around to see what the famously belligerent employees were getting up to.

Dennis looked genuinely shocked for a minute, before he could assemble his features into a look of contempt.

“Why did you think that would bother me?”

Mac was furious.

“Well lemme just ask you, why the fuck you would humiliate me at the nicest restaurant I’ve never been to! Christ, you make me sick.”

Dennis snorted. “Okay, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Gugino’s!” Mac said. “I went there last night, expecting to find you, and instead I got booted out! We made those plans two weeks ago!”

Dennis stared at him, contempt written across his face. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Mac? Beautiful women don’t get commitments out of me-- what makes me think I want to sign over my Friday nights to your assault of cologne and your bad dress sense? We have a nice thing going here, Mac, I won’t deny that, but part of its beauty is the trademark bachelor noncommittal quality! Y’know, we can just have a guy’s night out without making it a whole production.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. There were some drunken grunts of approval after his speech, from idiots who didn’t have any friends or understand friendship, Mac thought.

“I don’t know if the word ‘bachelor’ means what you think it does, dude. It doesn’t mean ‘selfish asshole who flakes out on his friends!’”

Dennis let out a low noise like a growl.

“Thanks, that contributed a lot,” Mac said, more exasperation than explosive anger at this point.

Dennis walked straight out of the bar, and Mac’s anger sank deeper, turned into a seething thing instead of something he just needed to hash out in a shouting match.

“Great, now we have no fucking bartender,’ Mac muttered. “Okay, for the rest of the night, no mixed drinks, just straight liquor and beer!” Mac shouted. A collective grumble rose from around the bar. “Thank your bartender, Dennis, for that the next time you see him. Maybe with a kick in the ass. You decide.”

After Mac, Charlie, and Dee closed up, Mac stayed behind, sat down at the bar. After the door closed on the other two, it opened one more time. Mac shot up, ready to defend the bar and his life.

It was Dennis.

“Look,” he said, his face contorted unflatteringly. “From now on, I’ll try to keep my word with you. There’s no reason for me to flake out on _you_. And to show you I mean it... I will set aside one dinner a month for you. Twelve nights a year, reserved specifically for you.” He spread his arms. “That’s all that I can give, and it should be more than enough.”

Mac softened.

“All right, Dennis. I’ll hold you to it.” He reached out to paw at Dennis’s back, too tired to make an exacting movement. Plus he’d been kind of liberal with his “shift drink”-- it had turned into a few.

“I expect you to, man.” Dennis paused. “But this makes the etiquette classes really pressing. And worth the investment. Mac, I cannot have you ruining my reputation all around the city.”

Just as Mac figured, it was empty talk. He attended no etiquette classes, and Dennis didn’t press the matter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this from a barnes and noble!

 

Charlie’s career, strangely enough, was coming up roses. Charlie never even really considered it a career, not until Frank’s friend Artemis came up to their apartment once and almost keeled over at the painted denims and sheets of music strewn around.

“Oh, my god,” she breathed, running her hands over the thick layers of paint on a filthy strip of denim. “What you have here is real, Charlie. And I’m not just sayin’ that because of the ‘ludes, or the champagne. Frank, did you know about this? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Thus began the rush education of Charlie in the ways of art, coyness, and financial matters. Frank and Artemis and their friends coached him. With the right framing, Charlie’s unusual social presence and habits came off as intentionally obscure.

“We’re two of a kind, me and him,” Frank blustered. “We’re fringe class.”

Artemis rolled her eyes and continued scrawling networking events in the planner she was giving to Charlie, and Mac barely suppressed a laugh, but Charlie looked taken with Frank’s bullshit.

“We sure are, man!” he laughed.

\------------

“Wine and cheese at Charlie’s opening is actually strangely appropriate,” Mac said to Dennis, both of them in ties and matching blazers they got two-for-one at the pawn shop.

“Yeah, but they got the wrong kind of cheese. What is it he consumes? Blocks of no-name bodega Jack and like, cheddar mixes. Just gnaws on them like a fucking rat.”

“Well, sure, the wine is way too nice too. But this is how they elevate his art,” Mac said, getting into it. He never would have expected to be having this kind of conversation with anybody, even if it was because he was attending his feral roommate’s art opening with a guy who worked at the same filthy bar he did. He was surprised how quickly he took to giving his opinion on something he had no investment in. It helped, having a smart and tasteful conversation partner like Dennis. “They have to give the suits a way to engage with his shit. I mean, urban waste and innovation? Charlie doesn’t represent anybody’s way of life but his own.”

“I dunno about that, chum, what about the bridge people? They’ve got a whole way of life, and actually I think Charlie owes a lot of his aesthetic to them. It’s an entire subculture,” Dennis said, motioning the word “subculture” with his hands.

“God, yeah. The fucking bridge people. Do you know how many weird parties Charlie has had at our apartment involving them?”

“I’m sure Charlie gets up to all kinds of objectionable things in the privacy of his apartment.” Mac noticed how Dennis gave Charlie full ownership over it. Dennis looked at him sideways. “Why haven’t you moved out yet, anyway? Hasn’t it been a month or two since you guys had that big fight?”

“It’s been five.” Mac admitted.

Here it comes. The perfect opening, the one Mac had been waiting for. Irrationally, of course. Dennis admires action, he doesn’t rely on lame social codes.

Mac laughed.

“I’ve been trying to find someone I think I could stand living with, and in this city, hanging with this crowd, that is a real task.”

Dennis didn’t follow Mac’s lead, making light the perpetual nightmare of New York living situations. “Are you really trying, though? I’ve seen the way you are at work with those fuckin’ pills he gives you. That’s not sustainable. This life isn’t sustainable.”

Oh, Christ, Mac thought. He gets a rare moment of genuineness from Dennis and it’s focused on his personal habits. The moment was ruined by Dennis’s remark.

Mac made the mistake of putting his hand on Dennis’s shoulder, and felt the seep of heat through his thin, cheap jacket. Warm flesh under there, he reminds himself. Dennis is not the man of steel he projects. He drew in a breath.

“I really am, Dennis. And hey, I meant to find a good moment to ask you this, but are you looking for someone?”

“Sure.” Dennis shrugs, nonchalant, in contrast to his lengthy lead-in.

“‘Sure’ is not a binding contract, Dennis. ‘Sure’ does not make me feel secure about leaving behind my cheap, stable-ish apartment.” Mac was aiming for levity, not devastation. He hoped he was successful.

“Here.” Dennis pulled a crumpled cocktail napkin out of his pocket, with a ballpoint pen. He scribbled on it.

“‘Sure. Signed, Dennis Reynolds,” he read aloud, as he handed it to Mac. “How’s that? Down in writing.”

“This feels an awful lot like a blank check, Reynolds. You sure you trust me with this?”

Dennis met his eyes.

“Mac, baby, I trust you to share a home with me and to not fuck up my monogrammed towels and not to use up all my expensive aftershave.”

“Well, okay.” Mac was not sure how to respond to that burst of sincerity. He felt his face heating up, so he downed his drink. “Guess I’ll take this home and frame it.”

“Good. Now let’s get back in there! We are missing out on some truly wild shit while we stand here discussing our bleak futures.” He was back to grinning and backslapping, mania clouding his eyes.

Mac had a hard time focusing on the stripping and the echoes of Charlie’s piano compositions around him. He kept sneaking looks at Dennis, trying to catch a glimpse of his face unguarded.

As the events went on, Mac nursed his glasses of wine, and decided not to be deterred by Dennis’s flakiness. He was giving off unmistakable vibes of something deeper, shifting currents under mirror-smooth water. Mac wanted to see it.

A while after Mac’s eyes started crossing, he saw Dee in the corner with Artemis, in a near-embrace. She had a smear of purple on her cheek that matched Artemis’s dark lipstick. She tossed her blond hair around like a showpony. Even from here he could see she was giggling obnoxiously.

Mac pointed them out to Dennis.

“What the fuck?” Dennis hissed.

“What, you’re not glad to see your sister making friends?”

“I thought she was over that shit.” Dennis looked sour.

“Uh, what shit?” But Dennis wouldn’t elaborate.

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t let her ruin your night,” he said firmly, looking Mac in the eyes.

“Wasn’t going to,” Mac said, but he lost his train of thought looking at Dennis.

\---------

Dee was wiping down a booth the next day when Mac came up to her.

“Here.” He handed her a baggie of pills.

“What’re these for, turkey?” Her usual “acerbic wit,” or general dickishness.

“They’ll pep you up. You look tired as hell. What did you get up to last night after we left?”

Dee gave him a devious smile.

“Has my brother ever told you about when I studied abroad in Spain?” Oh wow. Mac never ceased to be surprised by rich people’s casual mentions of educations, of travel. He forgot the Reynolds were so rich sometimes because they both worked the same kind of job he did. They never talked about their parents. Mac didn’t either, so he figured there was a reason for that. He never asked.

“Uh, no.”

“While I was there... I met a woman.”

“I have to say, this story is failing to capture my attention so far,” Mac said.

“You’re not listening to my tone, dick. I.... _met_ a _woman._ ”

Exasperated, Mac said, “Look, I’m not versed in the ways of travel and Spain and shit so I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, if there’s some Spanish idiom you’re referencing, or...”

“Okay, okay.” Dee looked put out. “My adviser caught me in bed with a Spanish woman named Maria.”

This, Mac was not expecting.

“What the fuck? Why would you tell me this? That is vile. What does that have to do with last night?” Mac spluttered.

Dee just grinned at him. “Didja see me with Artemis?”

Oh.

“What, _Frank’s friend_?”

“Yeah, friend, and occasional lover. Which, gross, I’m trying not to think about. More importantly... she helps him discover talent.” Dee leaned in. “Eh?”

“God, Dee, that sounds like a mistake. That whole group is terrifying. Anyway, hasn’t Dennis told you to just give up on that dream?”

“She was a little terrifying... but mostly thrilling. Yeah, I’m not gonna take Dennis’s advice on this one. When he’s not repressing the shit out of everything, he’s pursuing the worst possible version of his dreams.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What are Dennis’s hopes and dreams?”

“He performed in a musical once in high school.”

“Oooooh. Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch. This is why, by the way, Charlie’s success is kind of driving him crazy. Have you seen that?”

“I haven’t,” Mac said, fascinated.

“Oh yeah. So, keep him away from your roommate.”

That reminded Mac. “Well... Former roommate. We decided to move in together last night. Me and your brother.”

“Oh, really?” Dee suddenly looked very interested. “He never tells me anything. Who made the first move? You? Him?”

“Dennis made all kinds of overtures. But once I finally brought it up, he went totally cold. Acted all aloof.”

“Hm.” Dee took a drink, from the ever-present bottle in her hand. “You ever think he’s DENNIS-ing you?”

“Why would he need to do that to me? We’re friends.”

Dee shrugged. “You never know with him.”

Mac signed. “I guess it keeps things interesting.”

“Interesting. That’s for one word for it, sure.” Dee cackled. “Thanks for the pills, boner.”

She walked away, hips swinging cheerfully. Talking to Dee was always a fast-paced whirlwind of insults, but she was more fun to talk to than Dennis made her out to be. He made a mental note to ask one of the twins more about Spain.

\-------

“Hey, Frank, wanna head down to the bridge soon?”

Mac and Dee immediately turned to bore their stares into his head. They spoke at the same time.

“Your shift isn’t even close to over!” “I’ll be damned if I let you weasel out of another night cleaning up!”

“So?” Charlie asked. “I don’t even really need the money from here.”

“Yeah, we know that, we are all very well aware of that, but _we_ need _you_ here, Charlie,” Dennis spat.

“Uh-huh. You know what your pals here need from me more than that, though, is pills.” He waggled a bag in the air. Mac and Dee tensed up. Charlie feinted, pretending to throw the bag. Their hands twitched. Dennis watched from the bar, aghast. Not at the drug use-- that was nothing new in his world-- but at the pathetic control Charlie, the goddamn janitor, held over the other employees.

Dennis stalked out from behind the counter. He slapped the bag out of Charlie’s hand.

“This is just too much,” Dennis said. “Charlie, if you're gonna be like this, don’t fucking come back here.”

Charlie walked to Frank, staggering a little.

“Maybe I’ll do just that.”

He pointed at them, from his position in the doorway.

“You’re gonna regret kicking me out, when Frank and I make a bundle off _Rat Bastard_.” That was what Charlie was calling his current work in progress, which drew heavily from work he did before he even entered the art scene. It had some thinly-veiled autobiographical elements and it was highly anticipated.

“Hey, now hold on there, Charlie, I wasn’t involved in kicking you out at all--” Dee rushed forth to kiss ass.

“Yeah, yeah, Dee, I’ll keep you on my good list.”

“Please do, Charlie.”

The pair walked out, and Dennis turned to glare at Dee.

“What? Can’t a girl value her career?”

“Thought you had Artemis eating out of the palm of your hand,” Dennis sneered.

“Artemis and I... are still seeing each other. But Artemis also... does not have as much clout as I thought she did.” Dee looked faintly embarrassed.

“Meaning she won’t ‘discover’ you just because you’re sleeping together?”

“Says she has integrity. None of the men in this town do, but the woman I happen to bag, maybe the only woman with power around here, she has to have standards,” Dee said, frustrated. “I mean, she’ll get me parts here and there, but goddamn it, I was really expecting to come away with a one-woman show.”

Dennis snorted. “She works in the entertainment business, she’s not a miracle worker. She can get you into that artsy shit but she can’t cast a spell convincing an audience that you’re funny.” Mac snickered too.

“Okay, laugh it up, boners, but she said she can help me get considered for Charlie’s next production.” Their laughs died.

“Charlie’s shit? Is that a good idea? Not to sound too concerned with your livelihood, but this whole time I’ve been thinking this is just a fluke. Am I alone in this?” Dennis raised his eyebrows.

“Fuck no, I have also been thinking that.” Mac rushed to support Dennis.

“Well, the weirdos in this town love him right now. Even if he flops, I still get out there before many pairs of very important eyes. And I still get paid.”

“Sure, Dee, but don’t count your chickens before they’re laid. Or whatever.” Mac frowned. “I’m no native New Yorker, but I had a less-than-rural upbringing. You know. Watch out, is what I mean.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dee walked off to another part of the bar.

\------

Four hours later, Dee was tucked into a down comforter, in bed beside Artemis, wearing a silk nightgown. Light bloomed from candles on the bedside table, and a record played softly.

“I mentioned you to the boys at work,” Dee said.

Artemis arched an eyebrow. “How did that go over?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a den of moralizing, so no one was very concerned about the law. They just don’t take me seriously. They see you as another Frank, I think. Just trying to take what you can.”

“Frank’s a goddamn snake,” Artemis said. “I hope someone around here sees that.”

“Well, _we’re_ not the ones who work with him.”

“I gotta make a living somehow, and he is one of the best. Just don’t turn your back on him,” she laughed. “Anyway, baby, do not worry your head about me not being on the level. Worry about your little friend Charlie. Frank is taking over his life.” She leaned back, lit a cigarette. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Oh? Care to share that with me, Ms. Wisdom?”

“No use. Charlie’s on a fast train into hell. There’s no stopping him without becoming an additional casualty.”

Dee worried for the rest of the night. She tried not to show it, tried to be light and funny like she always was with Artemis, but it fell a little flat, and they both turned in early.

After the lights were out, Artemis kissed her shoulder.

“Listen, I know you feel bad for your friend, but you’re doing all you can just by being there, even in the worst of Frank’s grip on him. And hopefully, if you’re there to pick up the pieces, not much damage will be done.”

\------

Mac was up uncharacteristically early, waking Charlie with his racket instead of the other way around.

“Today’s the day, Charlie,” Mac said.

“Yeah, congrats,” Charlie said, apathetic. He sounded still-bombed from last night.

“God, when was the last time you stayed in at night? Where are you finding the time to do the work he’s supposedly making you famous for?” Mac disguised his concern in contempt.

“Whatever dude, at least he cares about my creative spirit. He doesn’t turn me into a fucking workhorse, like I am down at the bar.” Charlie tossed back a pill, one of the little green ones. “Well, I’m up now. Let’s do this.” His manner was grim, but the two of them packed up Mac’s scant belongings into a few cardboard boxes. Dennis was waiting outside with a rented truck.

\----------------

Mac stood in the living room, surveying the small mound of crap that was his own.

There was a pounding at the door.

“Mac! Mac let us in, we are carrying your goddamn boxes!”

He took his time letting them in, revealing a panting Charlie and Dennis. It felt good, the three of them working together, before Frank showed up and tried to “liven” things by screwing with the plans.

“Come on! Let’s just leave for a little while-- it’ll still be here when you come back. We’re missing a live performance from Cricket, and God knows that kind of thing might make history! You can move in this dump anytime.”

Charlie looked tempted, but he honored his obligations, for once. “Frank, bud, this is the last day I can claim Mac as a roommate. As such, I wanna see him settled in with this fine man,” he clapped Dennis on the shoulder, “comfortably and in good spirits.” He smiled devilishly.

“Speaking of spirits...” He reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a mid-range bottle of scotch. “I sprang for the better stuff, just for you two.”

“Can’t believe you still drink stuff like this, what with Frank making you a rich man,” Dennis said, eyes locked on Frank. He took a drink, straight from the bottle.

“Christ, let me go get some ice...” Mac muttered. He was staying out of any business with Frank, as neatly as he could. Well, besides the red and green pills he got secondhand from Charlie, who got them from Frank. So he couldn’t quite claim innocence.

“Yeah, well, that time will come, but for now I’m still drinking ten-dollar bottles!” Charlie said quickly, trying to smooth things over.

The rest of the move-in went off without a hitch, and soon Frank left, dragging Charlie out to some event as was his wont. How the guy himself managed to keep his aging, ailing body going was a total mystery. It presumably was similar to the way he kept Charlie and his other protegees going, but was almost supernatural for a man his age. No rest for the wicked, Mac guessed.

\-----

That night, they were alone in their shared apartment together for the first time. The booze from earlier still buzzed through Mac’s body, but he had no direction for his drunken energy. He collapsed onto the couch, next to Dennis.

Mac remembered Dee’s mention of her studies abroad.

“Say, Dee told me about this thing that happened when she was in Europe,” Mac began. “Knowing how big a liar she is I thought I’d ask you about it.” Mac actually believed her; he just wanted to hear Dennis’s version of events.

“Dee’s little stunt in Spain cost us our inheritance,” Dennis said bitterly. “Standing up for her was the most expensive mistake of my life.”

“Wait, for both of you?”

Dennis sighed.

“This is an unpleasant little story. I wish Dee hadn’t run her big mouth at you. Didn’t you ever wonder why the two of us worked such shitty jobs?”

Mac waited.

“So I can assume Dee told you her starring role in all this?” Dennis waited for Mac’s nod. “Well, Dee’s not the only disgraced young Reynolds.” He smiled ruefully. “When I was in Greece--”

“ _Greece?_ Really?  Because if I have any idea where this story goes-- does it bother you, being so cliche?” Mac tried to hold back vocalizing any judgement on the act itself.

Dennis twitched. “I’ll choose to ignore that or else we’ll get sucked into an argument and I’ll never get to share my sad little story with you. Anyway, yes, Greece, it wasn’t an adviser but a fellow student who caught me with the most handsome, talented man in my program. It wouldn’t have come out, probably, if not for the convenience of Dee’s indiscretion. The witness couldn’t resist the sensationalism. _The twin inverts._ He said he felt it was his ‘moral duty,’ but I guess his duty only extends so far as other people’s bedrooms because he works in the goddamn insurance industry now, ripping people off across the state.”

Mac didn’t know how to react. “Jesus, dude!”

“Is that all you can say?”

“Am I understanding you right?”

“You asked.” Dennis was starting to clam up, the way he did if he was received with anything less than utter admiration.

“You’re right, I did. I just wasn’t expecting...”

“To room with a queer?” Dennis whirled around. “Too late, buddy, you’re all moved in.”

“Dennis, come on. You’re the best friend I have here, and that won’t change.”

“Are you gonna lock your bedroom door, never drink with me again?” Dennis sneered.

“Last month, at a party of Frank’s...” Mac stopped. He hadn’t discussed this, had shelved it among the more shameful things he’d done. Most of those at least carried the excuse of copious drink and sometimes drugs, but that time he’d been running on less than a bottle of wine.

“What, do you have a sordid sodomy tale of your own?” He didn’t seem to consider that a serious possibility. Dennis was getting ready to launch into a full-blown bad mood.

“Somewhat. I don’t know what the government would call it,” Mac said softly. “Where do they draw the line?”

“Well, they tend to look the other way when it comes to sodomizing women,” he said. He was still using that abrasive tone, the one he always used around Frank.

“At a party last month... I let this man lead me into his room. I don’t know what I was thinking, just that I was bored and angry and I wanted to be close to him.” Mac let this hang in the air.

“And then?” Dennis’s voice was strained.

“He came all over me,” Mac said, with a touch of wonder in his voice.

“Oh. How did you feel about it?”

“Sticky.” Mac was blushing, which he hated doing but couldn’t control.

Dennis didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned to look at Mac head-on, placing a hand on his shoulder. He brought his hand up to Mac’s chin, turned his head to face him.

“Just be honest with me here. Do I have a shot with you?”

Mac smiled, leaned into his hand.

“You’re the only one who does.”

 

The apartment was furnished with two separate twin beds, both of them squeaky and scarred from years of previous owners. That night, they tried the bed for Mac’s room, with its lumpy mattress and the ugly, blocky headboard Dennis held onto so tight they had a damaged-property scare where it nearly came unbolted. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, in a kind of warmth entirely new to both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An adaptation of the incredible epigraph before the Valley of the Dolls novel. (Really I just changed a few words and cut down the length.) So kitsch! The rest of the novel is not so sentimental, but this poem-thing really captures the feel of the movie. 
> 
> Currently working on the next chapter and hoping to get it on here... soonish. I was hoping to have the next chapter wrap up this strange piece of work, but it might take two more.

You’ve got to climb to the top of Mount Everest  
to reach the Valley of the Dolls.  
It’s a brutal climb to reach that peak,  
which so few have seen.  
You never knew what was really up there,  
but the last thing you expected to find  
was the Valley of the Dolls.  
You stand there, waiting for  
the rush of exhilaration  
you thought you’d feel—but  
it doesn’t come.  
You’re too far away to hear the applause  
and take your bows.  
And there’s no place left to climb.  
But it was more fun at the bottom  
when you started,  
with nothing more than hope and  
the dream of fulfillment.  
All you saw was the top of that mountain—  
there was no one to tell you  
about the Valley of the Dolls.  
But it’s different  
when you reach the summit.  
The elements have left you battered,  
deafened, sightless—and too weary  
to enjoy your victory.  
Mac had never meant to start the climb.  
Yet, unwittingly, he took his first step  
the day he looked around  
and said to himself,  
“This is not enough—  
I want something more.”  
And when he met Dennis Reynolds  
it was too late to turn back.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope this was anywhere near as fun to read as it was to write. this took like a week, which is pretty fast for me!  
> i'm working on a third chapter but... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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